


Check What We Got

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [50]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Peril, Pining, Protectiveness, Rank Disparity, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 03:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton is safe and Washington is impatient.





	Check What We Got

Washington waits for word in an absolute agony of impatience. He ensconces himself in his tiny private room, where at least he doesn't need to worry about curious glances from every diplomat, admin or security officer to pass through the common room. It is distinctly possible they can hear him pacing, but Washington can't bring himself to care.

Just as he can't bring himself to care if his behavior is suspicious. Surrounded as he is by immediate superiors, he can't afford to be indiscreet—to give any sign he is fundamentally compromised—but until Hamilton is safely returned, such concerns are an afterthought at best.

Perhaps tomorrow he will worry over questions of propriety and what he might have let slip. Tonight he can think only of his boy.

The near silence feels like it holds for hours, but when Washington checks the chronometer on the wall he discovers the time is only nineteen-hundred. Less than two hours of waiting. This fact does not render him any more patient. It doesn't make the waiting feel less like an eternity.

He's ready to crawl out of his skin by the time his comm badge pings, and a voice with a barely discernible suggestion of smugness says, "Burr to Washington."

Washington taps his communicator. "Go ahead, Colonel."

"Sir, I'm happy to report complete success. We're returning to the compound now. Injuries appear to be minimal, and everyone is accounted for."

Washington is silent for a very long time, collecting himself enough to answer, "Excellent work." He's desperate to speak with Hamilton, but he resists the urge to ask. If such an indulgence were convenient, Hamilton would already be interjecting on Burr's comm frequency—or would perhaps have insisted on reporting in himself. Washington will simply have to take on faith that his boy is safe.

He has no reason to doubt Burr's account, no matter how vague and incomplete.

"How long until you reach the compound?" Discretion still dictates that Washington avoid the medical facilities for now. What little deniability he may cling to will evaporate if he shows his face too soon.

Deniability may be moot—he has no intention of throwing Burr under the bus—but it still won't do to appear too promptly and make a nuisance of himself, before his missing personnel have even returned.

So he abides by Burr's answer. Between the estimate and Washington’s deliberate—if tortured—delay, he arrives in the diplomatic compound’s medical wing in time to see the injured whisked away. Most of them wear Starfleet uniforms, though a couple members of the diplomatic corp are also sporting fresh bruises or favoring bandaged limbs. Hamilton stands beside Burr, a distance apart from the obviously injured but looking distinctly unsteady on his feet.

The two men are arguing. Washington is not the least bit surprised.

The debate ends when Washington approaches. He considers asking after the point of contention, but ultimately refrains. If it's something that merits his attention, both his officers will include the matter in their reports. More likely it's a pointless disagreement, or they would both be putting their arguments before him now.

It takes every ounce of Washington’s willpower to _not_ touch his boy. From the way Hamilton stares at him with jaw clenched and hands fisted tightly, Washington surmises he is not the only one struggling.

“It’s good to have you back, Colonel,” Washington says.

“Thank you, sir.” And then, avoiding eye contact with Burr so studiously it can only be intentional, Hamilton says, “Permission to give you my official report?”

Washington’s brows rise. “Surely everyone is subject to the same medical intake procedures.” Desperate as he is to get his boy alone, he will not flout the rules, especially if sidestepping protocol means postponing concrete reassurance that Hamilton is unharmed.

“We’re not currently aboard a Federation vessel, sir,” Hamilton protests with a thin veneer of calm.

The faint sound Burr makes—a barely audible breath somewhere between a cough and a hum—draws Washington’s attention to his security chief. There is a pointed expression on Burr’s face, and Washington abruptly surmises what his officers were arguing about.

“Hamilton.” He redirects his attention. “You’ve been missing for _three days_. You will stay here and be examined, and you will not leave without a clean bill of health. _Then_ you may deliver your complete report.”

He can see the arguments flashing in Hamilton’s eyes. But he also sees resigned comprehension. His boy is all too aware that there is no swaying this decision.

After a lengthy silence, Hamilton’s gaze cuts floor-ward, and all he says is, “Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Sign, Prompt, Curious


End file.
